Double Deceit (18 page)

But that hope died a quick death.

“How could you allow that wastrel into the house, Alex?” demanded Bushnell the moment she entered the drawing room.

Alex glared, even less pleased to see him than usual. He hadn’t even offered a greeting or his usual apology for arriving without warning. Well, if he was willing to abandon any pretense of manners, she saw no reason to be polite. “Who might you mean?”

“Linden, of course. I was appalled to see his carriage in the stable yard. Winton will be outraged to learn that you spoke to the man. He will doubtless lock you in the cellar for inviting so evil a person inside.”

“Mr. Linden’s coach broke a wheel near the gates, injuring one of his horses – not that it is any of your business. But since you would have me offer refuge only to people with spotless reputations, I must ask you to leave.”

“This is not your home,” sputtered Bushnell. “And Linden is the business of every man of sense. The man is a pariah – a drunken gamester whose acquaintances are unfit for any drawing room.”

“I saw no evidence of drinking during his brief stay,” she lied.

“You are so naïve, I doubt you would recognize unsavory behavior if it slapped you in the face.”

Temper flashing, she strode close enough to tower over him – he was a good foot shorter. “You have no call to take advantage of Father’s generosity by sticking your nose into my business. I do recognize vice, my lord. Father’s gaming is many times worse than Linden’s reputed play. As is his drinking. But I welcome your warning against Linden’s acquaintances. Since you know him so well, I now have another reason for asking you to leave.”

Bushnell choked, then paced to the window to escape her intimidation. “You are more sheltered than I believed. I should not have mentioned his acquaintances. They have no place in genteel conversation.”

“Ah. You meant his bits of muslin.” She nearly laughed at the look on his face. “I may live in the country, but that does not make me ignorant. Again, I must chastise you. How can you condemn any man for enjoying the ladies? I doubt there is a gentleman in London who didn’t cut a swath through the muslin company in his youth – and many still do. I have not heard that fidelity is considered a virtue in our class. Your wife has certainly turned a blind eye to your own sport.”

The choking increased, turning his face purple. “He has subverted the last vestige of your manners. Where is he? I’ll give him the thrashing he so richly deserves.”

“Gone.”

“But—”

“His carriage? He arranged for repairs, but remained only until his companion recovered from the incident. He will collect the carriage on his return.”

“Companion?”

She really should not tease him, but the temptation was too great. She was heartily sick of having him chastise her several times a year. Behaving never discouraged him. Perhaps deliberate rudeness might do some good. “A most charming companion. We became quite close.”

Bushnell collapsed into a chair, his face suddenly ashen. “Close?” He nearly strangled himself forcing the word out.

“Quite. We share so many interests.” She paused a long moment, then cocked her head. “Your journey has wearied you, I see. Since you prose so often about proper manners, only utter exhaustion would have prompted you to sit while I remain on my feet. Perhaps some brandy would be in order.”

He swallowed most of the glass before finding his voice. “What am I to tell Winton?”

“You could try the truth: His daughter is capable of conducting her own affairs. Or you could mind your own business and say nothing.”

“You are absurd,” he snapped, fury leaping into his eyes. “No female is capable of rational thought, as you prove every time you open your mouth. Where is Linden? I will inform him that he is not welcome to return.”

“Visiting a friend.”

“He has no friends.”

“It is his companion’s friend, my lord. Now, if you will excuse me, I have household matters to see to. If you had demonstrated even one of the social graces you are so fond of espousing, you would have warned me of your arrival so I could properly entertain you – but we have had this discussion before. You persist in behaving as a boorish lout.”

She turned to leave.

“When will Linden return?” he demanded.

“I’ve no idea, though I suspect it will be some weeks. The party sounded quite delightful.”

Walking out on him felt good. Watching horror spread over his face had been even more satisfying. And learning that he was a coward at heart – he had nearly swooned when she’d loomed over him – was downright exhilarating. For years, her father’s friends had turned up to scrutinize her behavior – one reason he rarely returned home was because he received so many reports on her conduct.

She was tired of playing dutiful daughter for wastrels and gamesters. And she was doubly tired of people telling her what to think. How long could she milk his misunderstanding before revealing the truth? She hadn’t had this much fun in years.

“Warn Sarah to stay abed until dinner,” she murmured to Murch as she headed for her workroom – Bushnell was insulted if he had to face a cripple in the drawing room. Murch would need no other reminders. He would have heard every word of her exchange. The staff hated Bushnell’s servants enough to follow Murch’s lead. And he would already have locked her guests’ rooms.

* * * *

The fun continued through dinner. Murch readily answered Bushnell’s questions, but he referred to Torwell only as Linden’s companion. The rest of the staff said little, their reticence prolonging the joke by making it appear that the companion was too scandalous to discuss, or that they were too shocked to talk about it.

Sarah also helped, rhapsodizing about Linden’s sweet nature and expounding on his charm, wit, and magnanimity until Bushnell nearly fell into an apoplectic fit.

Not until breakfast did she relent. Bushnell was heading for London within the hour. It would not do to have her father storm home to bar the gates. His leg might be improved enough for carriage travel.

“I have ordered Murch to deny admittance to Linden if he dares to return,” Bushnell informed her as he filled his plate with ham and kidneys – the footman who normally served meals was pointedly absent.

“You have no authority over my staff,” she said stiffly.

“Someone of sense must take charge,” he countered. “Anyone who allows a light-skirt into the house belongs in Bedlam.”

“Light-skirt?” She laughed heartily. “It is you who belongs in Bedlam, sir. Carousing with Father has addled your wits – if you had any left after so many debauches in opium dens.” She met his furious glare. “I warned you I was not sheltered. You are not the only one who revels in carrying tales, my lord. Father is free with news of his friends. I’ve heard many stories about you, including full details of that contretemps that barred you for life from Madame LaFleur’s brothel.”

He ignored her aside. “Do not think that changing stories will save you. You clearly stated that Linden brought a companion with him.”

“And you thought he brought his mistress? Your mind is mired in vice, sir. How can a gentleman assume that a lady would speak thusly? You insult me. You insult Mr. Linden. And you especially insult Mr. Anthony, who is spending several weeks with a school friend, studying his collection of religious manuscripts. His parishioners would be horrified by your suspicions.”

“Parishioners?” His face was purpling again. If the man did not learn to control himself, he would likely die of a fit.

“He is vicar to a parish in Lincolnshire – quite revered, as I understand it. I’ve seldom met a man more dedicated to his work. He will be sorry to have missed you, for he is always in search of souls worth saving.”

“I am amazed that he would waste his time on Linden.”

“Really? I am amazed at how easily you deceive yourself by jumping to ridiculous and wholly unwarranted conclusions. I must question what other baseless notions you might hold, particularly about Mr. Linden, who strikes me as the sort of man who might mention your failings to your face. Are you pursuing a personal quarrel? I cannot envision a reasonable gentleman railing so forcefully against someone I found quite charming.”

“Ingrate!”

“I owe you nothing, sir. Your officious interference has been the bane of my existence. Since you have such poor judgment, I prefer to follow my own instincts rather than listen to your sensational scandal. I trust you will have a good journey to London. Perhaps you will spare my delicate sensibilities in future by calling only when Father is in residence. I may have no authority to deny you his roof, but I am displeased at the liberties you have taken with my staff. And am I appalled at your determination to order my life. Next time you suffer this urge to be fatherly, stay home long enough to set up your nursery – or take charge of the bastards with which you have already littered the landscape.”

“Alexandra!” His eyes protruded from a purple face.

“You are doing it again. If you do not enjoy my company, then avoid it. I see no need to display exquisite manners before a man who has none. That would place me at a disadvantage, in the same way a greenling is helpless against a card sharp.”

He whitened, confirming her suspicions that he was a cheat. “You can be sure that your father will hear of this,” he said, rising.

“You can be sure that he will hear of your insults. But I no longer care what he thinks, so your threats are empty. He has more to lose from annoying me than he could ever gain by locking me up. You seem to forget that I am of age, and have been for some time. Good day, sir.”

It was true, she realized as she strode from the room, giving him no chance to respond. And her father would surely have realized it by now. In turning the Linden fortune over to her, he had lost any access to it – until she wed.

Her euphoria over routing Bushnell faded. The fortune was out of reach until she married. Thus Sir Winton had a strong incentive to find her a weak-willed husband. It would allow him to dip into the funds whenever he ran short.

She should not have insulted Bushnell. Always before, she had played the role of untutored rustic with her father’s friends, being obnoxious enough to discourage any interest, but stopping short of presenting a challenge they would be compelled to meet. More than one considered himself an irresistible lover. But this time she had revealed her determination. If Sir Winton recognized that, he might take steps to force obedience – like locking her into a room with whichever man he chose, and leaving her there until she was obviously increasing.

Or killing her. She had not asked what would happen to the trust if she died unwed.

She must settle with Linden the moment he returned. She could only hope he really did have a special license in his pocket. Her father could be here in four days.

Blue-devils banished the last of her euphoria as she headed to the villa. The confrontation with Bushnell had raised the memory of all her dealings with gentlemen, and not just those sent by her father. Belligerence was her usual style – scoffing at statements, slipping cant phrases and even mild curses into her speech, intruding into conversations involving money or crops or the latest mill, as if trying to prove she knew as much as they.

Which she did.

She had carried her aversions too far. While it was true that she had vowed never to wed, her aggressiveness pushed men so far away that even friendship was impossible. And she was the loser, as the past fortnight showed. By adopting an agreeable role with Linden, she had set the stage for her growing friendship with Torwell.

If it continued. He might never forgive her deceit.

Thoroughly out of sorts, she dragged out her tools and resumed her original excavation of the temple. Continuing the work they had started two days ago was too depressing.

Chapter Ten

“Send for Simms,” shouted Tony when Murch opened the Vale House door. He helped a moaning Jon from his horse, then caught him when his legs gave out.

“Drunk?” asked Murch, grabbing Jon’s other arm. He had flung an order over his shoulder, then raced at unbutlerly speed to help.

“Bad fish. I warned him not to eat it.”

Jon choked, then vomited onto the drive. Little remained in his stomach, but that did not mitigate the violence of the attack.

“How long has he been like this?” asked Murch.

“An hour. I wasn’t sure we’d make it back.”

They maneuvered him up the steps and into the hall, where he sagged onto a chair.

“He’s in for an unpleasant day,” observed Murch as Simms hurried in.

“At least.” He shook Jon’s arm. “Wake up, Linden. One more flight of stairs.”

Jon groaned.

“We will have to carry him, sir.” Simms shrugged.

Half an hour passed before they finished stripping Jon and tucking him into bed. His stomach rebelled again before they finished.

Tony sighed. This was not how he had envisioned his return. But even more urgent than settling with Miss Vale were his questions about Bushnell. He had meant to stop first at the stables to make sure the baron was gone, but Jon’s illness had made that impossible. And he also wondered how Miss Vale had survived the visit.

Bushnell might be a friend of Sir Winton, but his bad reputation was well earned. In addition to the usual vices, the man was an opium-eater, which made his behavior quite unpredictable.

“Is Lord Bushnell still here?” he finally asked Murch.

“He stayed only the one night.” He paused, then continued. “I was not sorry to see his backside, sir. He was even more officious than usual.”

“Violent?”

“No. I’ve never known him to turn violent.”

Seeing the question in Murch’s eye, Tony pressed on. The Vale affairs would soon be his business. “Is Sir Winton aware that Bushnell craves opium?”

“He has said nothing to me.” But his eyes darkened with fury.

“His need grows stronger every year, leading to unpredictable and often violent outbursts. He’s injured several people in London, a fact society ignores, for his victims are from the lower classes – so far. It is only a matter of time before he turns on one of his peers.”